


the way i see you

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Handholding, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, i mean he likes atsumu from the very start but we're the only ones who know that, kiyoomi's momma really wants to see their kids happy and married, kiyoomi-centric, no beta we die like men, this is just a long story about kiyoomi falling in love with atsumu, updates on wednesdays!, yeah it's a little cliche ik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: Kiyoomi's mother has been trying to set him up on dates since his high school years. There are two things to recognize here: 1) Kiyoomi has never been interested in a single person he has ever had a successful blind date with, and 2) Atsumu is standing in the middle of his bedroom, hair disheveled and mid-yawn, looking like an absoluteheathen,and, with the way time is playing against Kiyoomi right now, he can only think of one thing.Miya Atsumumustcome to this lunch with him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

If there’s one thing that Kiyoomi hates about Saturdays it’s the mornings. A good sleep is almost impossible to have on Friday nights, not with the way the music travels down the halls of their residence building, and especially not when his phone is constantly blowing up with invites and messages from someone he really should just block, but he doesn’t because, as much as a nuisance Atsumu is (sometimes), he’s one of the only people in his life who still makes an effort in maintaining their friendship.

And as cold and frigid as Kiyoomi is, he can get lonely as well, and Atsumu is always there. Sometimes, he’s afraid Atsumu might drop him one day, even though Kiyoomi knows he’ll survive fine without the company of others, because he can’t give as much as he receives.

Kiyoomi hasn’t blocked Atsumu yet because he always ends up responding to his messages the moment he wakes up and checks his phone, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t blocked him yet because Atsumu is the only bit of social interaction he gets in his boring life, which consists entirely of studying, cleaning, sleeping, and eating.

Kiyoomi isn’t dumb, he knows he doesn’t give off the excited first-year energy most expect from the bundle of new students living in residence. He knows he tends to scare people away, or that people find him somewhat unnerving and stay clear of his direction. In most cases, he’s glad, because he isn’t exactly fond of speaking to strangers, but he doesn’t worry too much about it anymore.

Meeting Atsumu two summers ago at a seasonal volleyball training camp, when they were both still young and in high school, was something life-changing to Kiyoomi—he might even say it’s the best thing to happen to his life, but if he were to ever admit that aloud, he’ll remind himself that it’s because nothing happens in his life.

So, yes, Atsumu waltzes in and has decided not to leave even though Kiyoomi is painfully aware of the fact that he isn’t always a great person to keep around. They’re friends, he thinks. Atsumu is the only friend Kiyoomi has, as well as the only one he really needs.

After all, the blonde is still quite a handful, he _might_ block him one day, just for a little bit. Who knows?

Kiyoomi reaches for his phone after reappearing from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from his shower, and checks for all his notifications. He consciously ignores all of Atsumu’s messages from the previous night—well, _morning,_ he supposes, since the timestamps read, at latest, from four in the morning—and heads straight for his calendar app. He has to go to the chiropractor in about an hour, meet his mother for lunch, and then go grocery shopping since his fridge and pantry has been looking a little dry. His mother wouldn’t be too happy to see that. 

Just as he’s about to go back to his shared messages with Atsumu, he gets a message from him. It’s a little odd for Atsumu to message him at this hour—considering the fact that Atsumu usually stays up late partying with his other friends on Friday nights (Saturday nights, too), he should be seriously knocked out right now. _Cold._ Kiyoomi comes to two conclusions: Atsumu either didn’t sleep and stayed up all night, or he was forced to get up. It’s most likely the former.

He taps on the notification, reads it, then scrolls all the way back up to finally get a quick read through. Most of it is unintelligible with the amount of typing errors and spaces placed where they shouldn’t be, but he gets the gist of it: Atsumu asking him where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s sleeping (he was definitely _trying_ to), and if he’s sure he doesn’t want to come out for the night (yes, Kiyoomi is _always_ sure).

Then, he frowns at the most recent message.

From: Atsumu

[9:21] u up?

There’s a knock on his door before he can even send out his response, and Kiyoomi sighs. He swings the door open, eyes squinting down at the suspiciously bright grin. He knows Atsumu hadn’t slept yet by the way his hair is messily disheveled like the wax he had put on last night is just barely keeping his front bangs up and the stark stench of vodka washing off him like testosterone from the high school boys’ team locker room.

“You look terrible. Go home and sleep, Atsumu,” is the first thing he tells him before shutting the door, but Atsumu’s foot wedges itself into the gap. Kiyoomi immediately releases his push on the door, letting it open wider.

“But _Omi,_ I’m already here!”

After knowing Atsumu for long enough to know now, Kiyoomi doesn’t argue anymore because it’s pointless. He lets the other budge his way into his apartment, but doesn’t forget to remind Atsumu to lock the door because he _swears_ the other has no idea how to use one.

“Jeez, I know,” Atsumu argues, lock clicking in place. “Ya don’t hafta tell me every time.”

Kiyoomi suppresses the urge to roll his eyes as his slippers slide along the tiles of his kitchen. “Four of the five times I’ve walked into your place, Atsumu, and the door was not locked. I’m going to keep reminding you until you remember how to lock your own door.”

A snort sounds from behind him, and then a creak of the chair at the dining table follows. “It’s not like someone’s gonna come in and choke me in my sleep.” Atsumu yawns excessively loudly. “No one hates me that much—also, if you get to say that then I get to say that you suck at knocking! What if I was doing something in there?”

This time, Kiyoomi does actually roll his eyes. He grabs two plain mugs and plugs the coffee machine in. “Help make coffee. If you’re going to come here and eat my food, at least lend a hand.” He pauses, then turns around. “Did you sleep?”

The answer is obvious, but he’s going to make Atsumu answer anyway.

Atsumu blinks, mid stretch, and relaxes his arms back to his side with a flop. “Um, nah. Was up all night partyin’ with Bokuto and Hinata. Y’know how they get.”

Kiyoomi wants to argue that it might be Atsumu who keeps them up, but decides against it. Atsumu looks like he’s ready to fall asleep at the table, and Kiyoomi’s still waking up. The less words they have to exchange right now, the better. Atsumu can, maybe, squeeze in ten minutes if Kiyoomi is going to have to wake him up for breakfast. He forgets ever asking Atsumu for help with making coffee (he decides he doesn’t mind), and grabs a few eggs to begin making his _tamagoyaki_ mixture.

This is a terribly normal occurrence. If Atsumu pulled all nighters, he would always somehow find his way to Kiyoomi’s door, smile wonky but still awfully blinding, have breakfast and crash on his couch or, if breakfast isn’t ready yet, sleep, wake up to eat, and then fall asleep again. Kiyoomi is no longer surprised when it comes to Atsumu. In a way, he thinks, it’s a bit like a routine. It doesn’t happen all the time, but he expects it when it does happen.

He sets the dish down between them, along with a couple utensils and side plates. Atsumu lifts his head instinctively, glances at Kiyoomi and smiles, and picks up his chopsticks. Kiyoomi finds his gaze lingering on Atsumu’s lips, but tears it away when he realizes it might take a bit of an awkward turn. Atsumu offers to help clean afterward, but Kiyoomi tells him it’s okay, and to go back to his room so he can get his sleep in. He says this every time, yet is never disappointed anymore when all Atsumu gives is an incoherent grumble as he lands face-first into the couch.

He makes sure he’s quiet as he gets dressed in his bedroom. To his surprise, Atsumu has not fallen asleep yet. From behind the closed door of his bedroom, Kiyoomi hears Atsumu call out, “Where ya goin’?”

“The chiropractor,” Kiyoomi speaks easily while fixing some of the stray strands in his hair. He doesn’t hear Atsumu say anything else, so he hopes he has (finally) fallen asleep. He emerges from his room, steps slowing to a complete halt by the couch, and narrows his eyes on the still figure, slumped in his couch. It might have fooled someone else, but not Kiyoomi. “Get up. I’m leaving.” Atsumu does not budge, and Kiyoomi’s frown deepens.

“Atsumu.”

“What?” he croaks out, eyes still closed.

Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “I’m leaving. You should probably go back and sleep in your bed. I can’t imagine my couch is going to be very good for your muscles. If anything, this chiropractic appointment should be for you.”

Atsumu whines out, “I’m comfortable here—I’ll be yer watchdog. Make sure no one comes in and steals yer expensive coffee machine. Plus, ya always lock yer door, so I’m safe from people wantin’ to choke me in my sleep, right?”

Breathing deeply through his nose, Kiyoomi lets out a defeated exhale. He doesn’t know what he expected. “Fine, but do not leave until I get back.”

Atsumu makes a noise at the back of his throat that sounds somewhat in between a hum and a grunt, but Kiyoomi takes it as acknowledgement. Just before he leaves, however, he goes back into his room, reaches for the blanket on the top shelf of his closet that Atsumu has probably used more than himself at this point, and spreads it over his sleeping figure. He’s pretty sure he’s actually gone this time, breaths and little snores coming out evenly, so he leaves, ensuring the door closes gently behind him.

He doesn’t forget to lock the door, hand pressing down on the door handle twice to confirm it’s secure.

The trip to the chiropractor is quick. He’s been there enough times, even growing up, to know how it works. The receptionist smiles at him and gets him to fill out some forms, and he heads into the room to wait for his chiropractor. He waits a total of three minutes before the door handle turns and his chiropractor appears, folder in hand, and someone Kiyoomi has never seen before tailing in behind him.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, tossing the folder onto the counter by the sink, “how’s your mornin’ so far?”

“Fine,” Kiyoomi offers quickly, eyes narrowing at the brown-haired boy behind his chiropractor. “Who’s that?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from what he’s busy with as he responds, “Oikawa, introduce yourself.”

The boy—Oikawa, Kiyoomi presumes—stiffens slightly, shoulders tense. “Um, I’m Oikawa Tooru. I’m a fourth-year Kinesiology student, and I’m training under Iwaizumi.” He gestures to the black-haired male, whose arms are crossed over his chest as if he’s judging Oikawa’s introduction.

“He’s here to observe,” Iwaizumi speaks as he directs his attention back to Kiyoomi, arms dropping to his side, “Is that cool with you?”

Kiyoomi has known Iwaizumi for a while now. He has two sessions a month with him, and it’s been nearly four months. His mother had suggested him to Kiyoomi when he was getting prepared to move all his items into his dorm, so Kiyoomi had been seeing Iwaizumi since before university even started. Oikawa is an addition to all of this that Kiyoomi hasn’t prepared for, but won’t say it’s unwelcomed until it becomes so.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t mind if he’s just watching.”

The entire time, he can’t help but notice Oikawa’s attention to him. The one time Kiyoomi takes a peak, he’s surprised to find that he’s actually looking at Iwaizumi and not him, although he supposes there shouldn’t be anything weird about it since he’s here to learn. When they’re finished and Kiyoomi gets off the bed with a roll of his shoulders, Iwaizumi mentions his mother.

“Has your mom contacted you?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes squint with slight caution. He doesn’t exactly like the direction this conversation is headed, but he pursues it anyway, only because he feels bad for Iwaizumi. “Only to meet for lunch today.”

A bark of laughter sounds from Iwaizumi as he snaps the folder closed. “My mom’s friend has known her a long time, but I didn’t think she’d try to set you up with me.”

It’s then that Kiyoomi notices the flicker of eyes from his side periphery. Oikawa is suddenly looking at him, and Kiyoomi should feel slightly embarrassed but a part of him has a feeling he doesn’t need to. He subtly redirects his attention back to Iwaizumi with a small dip of his head.

“I apologize. She’s been trying to get me to see someone.”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “It’s normal. My mom was like that for a bit, too. You’re still young though.” He gives Kiyoomi a strong pat on his back, followed by a wink. “Sorry, but I’ve already got my eyes on someone else.”

Oikawa’s and Kiyoomi’s eyes meet briefly, but the other looks away casually, like he doesn’t want to get himself involved in their conversation at all.

The door opens as Kiyoomi grabs for his jacket and scarf, and Iwaizumi is out with a, “Let her know you’re just not interested in that stuff right now. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t have the heart to tell him that no, she won’t. During the ten minute drive back to campus, he tries to prepare himself for everything his mother is going to talk to him about at lunch. As much as he appreciates her for all that she has provided, Kiyoomi knows his family is a pool of high expectations that they had subconsciously pushed him into. His sister had gotten married at twenty-three and had a child at twenty-four, but that was possible only due to the fact that she genuinely fell in love with a man with a rich family background.

As much as Kiyoomi understands his mother’s requests, he has never once agreed with something like this. The first reason being that he’s only eighteen. Second, Kiyoomi has found little interest in dating, and doesn’t like many people to begin with. Third, and most importantly of all, he has never been in love. If he doesn’t want to go on dates with people he doesn’t like, how on earth is his mother expecting him to settle down with someone he’ll have to see every day that the sun rises? It’s a horrible waste of time to meet people time over time only to find something about them that sets Kiyoomi off. He has little to no hope he’ll meet someone he likes that way.

The car behind him honks, and Kiyoomi swallows down the urge to drive the palm of his hand into the padding of his own steering wheel, purely out of irritation.

When he enters the apartment, it’s with a little bit of a bang, so he feels a little bad when he sees Atsumu jolt from his position on the sofa, hair a mess from where it had been lifted on the pillow.

“Good afternoon,” Kiyoomi mumbles and tosses his keys on the counter.

Atsumu rubs his eyes. “Mornin’.”

“It’s eleven.” He’s supposed to meet his mother in an hour.

“So? I just woke up.”

Kiyoomi makes a beeline for his bedroom to get changed into something more presentable. He’s in the middle of trying to pick out what to wear when Atsumu knocks his knuckles against his open door. He stands there, shoulder leaning against the door frame. He looks disgusting, and Kiyoomi is about to tell him to go home and take a shower, but Atsumu speaks first.

“Wear the black one. Where ya goin’? On a date?”

Kiyoomi exhales through his nose but hangs the grey shirt back onto the rack. “I’m meeting my mother for lunch.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Atsumu pushes himself off the frame, then closes his shoulders in on himself a little. “Sorry, didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Ya never really talk about yer ma.”

His reply comes with bated breath. “I don’t really like to.”

Thankfully, Atsumu doesn’t push it anymore and shrugs nonchalantly with a ruffle to the back of his head. “Bring me back some food. I’m hungry again.”

Kiyoomi’s movements freeze, hands fisting tightly into his shirt. He zones out, eyes wide, then snaps his head up in Atsumu’s direction, words caught at the back of his throat. See, normally, Kiyoomi doesn’t make impulsive decisions, but the timing is right. Atsumu is here. Kiyoomi is able to tolerate Atsumu—well, he’s really the only person he has right now—he doesn’t hate him even though he sometimes drives Kiyoomi off a cliff, and, well, it’s kind of the only idea he has right now to get his mother to stop trying to set him up on useless dates.

Time is playing against Kiyoomi right now. Ideally, he should be thinking about it more—much more, if he could—and it might be a bit of a gamble considering it’s Atsumu, but he can’t think of anything better for the life of him right now. He thinks, maybe, this might be the best decision he can make right now.

“Why don’t you come?” It sounds less like a suggestion than it does a statement, but Atsumu freezes mid yawn, a hand under his shirt to scratch at his stomach. Kiyoomi frowns. “Can you get ready in fifteen minutes? You can use my shower.”

“The hell?” Atsumu asks, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t wanna go. That’s yer mom.”

Right. Kiyoomi exhales slowly. He has to convince Atsumu first, before anything. “Atsumu, I have never asked anything of you. This is important to me. Will you come?”

“Well, when ya put it like that, I gotta go, right?”

As Atsumu showers and Kiyoomi changes, he tries to think about how he’s supposed to break the “news” to his mother—and, well, Atsumu too. It won’t be easy, but the best way to do it for both of them is to be as straightforward as possible. God, he’s already imagining the headache Atsumu might potentially give him on the way there, but he’s sure they can do this if he can just get it into Atsumu’s head and make sure he fully understands what’s happening. It might take a bit, but he’ll come around. He just desperately hopes he does by the time they actually _get_ there.

Atsumu is in his towel, hair pushed back from the wetness, when he comes out of the shower. “What am I supposed to wear?”

Kiyoomi pauses. He hadn’t thought about that. He turns to his closet and hears a snort from behind him. “Dry your hair, I’ll find something.”

“There’s no way I’ll fit into your clothes. Have you seen these thighs?”

No, Kiyoomi has not “seen these thighs,” but he does know that Atsumu is right. It isn’t hard to tell that Atsumu goes to the gym regularly, more often than Kiyoomi does, and lifts weights Kiyoomi doesn’t think he wants to touch. He checks his phone.

“It’s fine,” he tells Atsumu, “we have time. I’m coming with you to your room to help you pick something.” He lifts his head just in time to see Atsumu reach for the handle of his front door, and Sakusa’s jaw drops. “Aren’t you going to… put on clothes?”

“What?” asks Atsumu, turning around. “I live one floor up. I can just take the emergency stairwell.”

They don’t actually end up taking the emergency stairwell because Kiyoomi, despite his state of emergency, doesn’t like to break rules, so they reach a sort of compromise. They’re in the elevator, Atsumu a small distance away from his on his side with a towel wrapped around his waist and _only_ a towel. It’s not like Kiyoomi hasn’t seen him without a shirt, but this is a little awkward. He shifts his weight onto his other foot.

“Too much skin for ya, Omi?” Atsumu teases as the elevator doors slide open. The undersides of his Adidas slides drag against the carpet as they make their way down the hallway. “Yer allowed to look, y’know?”

“I’m familiar with nudity. Don’t assume I’m flustered.” He _is_ a little flustered, but he likes to think he does a pretty good job at not showing it.

Atsumu gawks at him. “Do ya _know_ what you just said? You just admitted to watching porn!”

Kiyoomi deadpans at him. “That is not what I said.”

“Yeah, you said you were _familiar_ with nudity—how is that _not_ the same thing?”

“Can we please find you clothes?”

Osamu is, surprisingly, not there, his bedroom door half open. Kiyoomi doesn’t know him too well, but he knows they’ve got similar habits. He has a feeling Osamu might be an even deeper sleeper than Atsumu is. When Kiyoomi asks while flipping through Atsumu’s closet, half empty because most of his clothes are in piles on the floor, Atsumu tells him he’s been hanging around Suna lately. Kiyoomi doesn’t know who Suna is, so he doesn’t ask more—he’s not actually interested anyway.

“Why are all your clothes on the floor?” Kiyoomi grumbles out, grabbing a couple shirts and tossing them onto Atsumu’s unmade bed. Neither facts are surprising, but he still feels the need to point it out to Atsumu, in case he still isn’t aware that hygiene and cleanliness are normal and important. “Do you know how to do laundry? When do you do laundry?”

Atsumu shrugs one of the shirts over his head. “Hey, it’s not like I _wanted_ ya to see this! I would’ve cleaned up a li’l if I knew you were gonna come bargin’ in again.”

“You let me in.”

“Whatever. How’s this?”

Kiyoomi glances at Atsumu and has to do a double take. It’s just a white knitted sweater—why does it fit him so _well?_ Kiyoomi had picked it out because it was one of the only nicer shirts he could find that are still actually clean, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Atsumu in it. He blinks out of his daze, unsure by what exactly he had been so caught up in.

“It’s fine. Wear that one.” He turns back to face Atsumu’s closet, mouth a little dry and swallowing to make sure he’s still somewhat functioning, and disregards the haze that had clouded his mind just seconds ago as some sort of a byproduct from seeing Atsumu in something that isn’t sweatpants and an old tee. He looks nice, like any other person.

They have twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant, which should, theoretically, be enough time to catch Atsumu up in the mess that Kiyoomi feels a little bad for getting him in, but he assures himself they’ll be okay. Atsumu is his friend—he’s helped him countless times even without Kiyoomi asking, so he’ll be willing to help him out with this, too, right? Especially since Kiyoomi had asked for a hand himself?

He sure hopes so, because the engine is running now, and he doesn’t take the chance to back out; doesn’t even spend a second thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME WELCOME TO MY HUMBLE ABODE
> 
> very excited to post this work !! similar to my day two (18+ olympics au), this project is almost done and will be updated weekly, on wednesdays!
> 
> you can find my day 3 here (teen & up audiences, implied sexual content, and LOTS OF FLUFFY SNEAKERHEAD MOMENTS)  
> you can find my day 1 here (teen & up audiences, implied sexual content, probably the fluffiest thing i've ever written)
> 
> come find me on twitter !! i'm always looking for friends :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, I _heard_ you. I just— _what?”_
> 
> Kiyoomi’s fingers drum against his steering wheel impatiently. “Are you just going to keep saying that? We don’t have a lot of time, Atsumu.”
> 
> “No, wait— _waitwaitwait_ —why do I…. Okay. Okay, lemme get this straight.” Kiyoomi bites down, jaw clenching, and trains his eyes on the roads. “You, Sakusa Kiyoomi, want me, Miya Atsumu, to be yer _boyfriend?”_
> 
>  _“Pretend_ to be my boyfriend,” he corrects, exasperated.

“Wait, _what?”_

Well, Kiyoomi did see this coming. The hum of his car engine settles in the silence between them, music turned down quiet enough so that he can speak properly to Atsumu. He's already said it: "I need us to pretend to date." It had hung in the air for a solid, tangible ten seconds, thick enough for Kiyoomi to feel the weight of it on every surface of his body, until Atsumu finally let it click. He can feel eyes on him, doesn’t say anything and waits for five seconds to pass by.

“Did you not hear me?” he asks, slightly peeved when Atsumu says nothing else. A lack of response right now is in _no ways_ good. He knew this wasn't going to go well, and he's afraid his hope is slipping with the way Atsumu is currently failing to understand what Kiyoomi is requesting of him. It's way too late to turn back now. If Atsumu wants to be dropped off, Kiyoomi knows he'll tell him.

The nerves are beginning to settle now. God, can Atsumu really do this? Can _he_ do this? He breathes in through his nose—there’s no use thinking about stuff like that now. They’re already halfway there.

“No, I _heard_ you. I just— _what?”_

Kiyoomi’s fingers drum against his steering wheel impatiently. “Are you just going to keep saying that? We don’t have a lot of time, Atsumu. Please,” he adds, only because he thinks Atsumu might need a bit more convincing, "this is important to me."

“No, wait— _waitwaitwait_ —why do I…. Okay. Okay, lemme get this straight.” Kiyoomi bites down, jaw clenching, and trains his eyes on the roads. “You, Sakusa Kiyoomi, want me, Miya Atsumu, to be yer _boyfriend?”_

 _“Pretend_ to be my boyfriend,” he corrects, exasperated.

“Right. Okay. Sure— _why?”_

Atsumu has the right to know, since Kiyoomi has already dragged him into this. It’s a bit of a mess; the only thing he can do right now is beat out the important stuff. He’ll find time to apologize later, but he figures he’ll just do Atsumu a favour sometime in the future.

“It’s my mother. She’s been trying to set me up with many people, and I don’t want to see anyone right now. I figured it’d be best if I just tell her I’m already seeing someone, but she’ll want to meet them. I only asked you because I couldn’t have asked anyone else.” His gaze flickers over to Atsumu who's been wordless for the moments that pursue his confession. “Are you listening?”

Atsumu grumbles, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes to the passenger-side window. “How can I not?”

Kiyoomi feels a little bad now. His grip tightens over the steering wheel, mouth suddenly feeling a dry. He glances to his left to catch the expression on Atsumu's face and he, for the most part, looks normal, but Kiyoomi has to be sure. He should ask, just in case. Maybe it's not too late to just tell him they can meet up next time—or if Atsumu even wants to do this at all.

“Are you… okay?” Kiyoomi attempts. "If you really don't want to do this, I can just drop you off at a bus stop."

“Nah," Atsumu responds casually and with a dismissive wave of his hand, "it's fine. You'll be late and I would've gotten ready for nothin'. Plus, it can’t be _that_ hard pretendin’ to love ya, and you'll be payin' for me, right?” he muses, clicks his tongue, and sends a wink his way. Kiyoomi frowns with a roll of his eyes, a bit too exaggerated.

“You just have to sit there,” Kiyoomi adds as they near the restaurant. “Don’t say anything if you don’t have to. If my mother asks something, I’ll answer.”

“Awe, but what if she’s askin’ me what I love about ya? What’re ya gonna do? ‘Atsumu loves my smile. I have a great smile. It’s why he fell in love with me.’ Ya don’t even smile much.”

A scoff leaves Kiyoomi’s lips, slightly curled in amusement. “Is that supposed to be how I sound like? That's a terrible impression.”

When Atsumu doesn’t respond, Kiyoomi steals a look, the smile on his face dropping in replacement of a concerned frown. “What?”

“Uh, nothin’. So, I’m just s’pose to sit there an’ look pretty?”

Kiyoomi stares at him, unimpressed.

“Fine, guess I will. Are we there yet?”

Kiyoomi says, “Almost.” Three minutes later, they pull up to the small parking lot in the back. He distantly wishes they could have had more time to plan this out, but his mother is a busy woman. He has no idea when they’ll see each other next, especially now that Kiyoomi has moved out and onto campus. It’s definitely better now than later. He's thankful Atsumu hasn't ditched him, especially when Kiyoomi has given him a few opportunities to already.

“Don’t forget what I said,” Kiyoomi reiterates as they step out his car. The air is chilly even under the brightness of the afternoon sun. The restaurant is one that Kiyoomi has been to before. The interior is welcoming with decorative plants. Their glasses are well-polished and their food is decent. If anything, Atsumu should be somewhat happy he’s even getting free food, since he always seems to love to steal Kiyoomi’s anyway.

A host greets them at the door and directs them where his mother waits when Kiyoomi refers to his reservation. Despite having gone to the chiropractor earlier, his shoulder feels tense and he’s finding it a bit of a chore having to keep them squared. Although it isn't exactly surprising, it's still stressing him at the back of his mind. He's afraid he shows it on his face.

“Smile,” he whispers to Atsumu. “Keep your back straight.”

“Son,” his mother regards him with a bright grin, then looks at Atsumu with lifted brows, like she’s surprised he’s brought someone. Well, she should be. Kiyoomi hadn’t told her he was going to be bringing someone along with him. “A friend?”

They get as comfortable as they can in their seats before Kiyoomi responds. “He’s someone I’m seeing.”

A silent and drawn-out _‘oh’_ leaves her lips as she gives Atsumu a onceover. “What is your name?”

Kiyoomi peeks at him from the corner of his eyes, face turned to his mother. They're starting off simple; typical of casual conversation between two strangers, but Kiyoomi's heart still rattles in his chest, palms clammy with nervousness. Atsumu better not say anything stupid. Kiyoomi has no way of controlling what comes out of that mouth, even if it's something as easy as an introduction.

“Miya Atsumu!” he responds with excessive excitement. “How’s yer mornin’ been, Sakusa-san?”

Kiyoomi is surprised to see her smile. He knows he told Atsumu to leave the talking to them, but he supposes this is all right for now. He doesn’t want to raise suspicion by cutting their conversation short, especially when it’s just small talk.

“It’s been lovely, thank you. Miya-san, where are you from? Your accent is quite distinctive, although I can’t seem to remember where from,” she questions.

Atsumu beams brightly. “I’m from Hyogo, and please,” he says with a smile, “Atsumu is fine."

“Ah, _Kansai-ben._ How forgetful of me.” Her gaze flickers from Atsumu to Kiyoomi, whose eyes are diverted by his water glass. “How about we start with some drinks?”

Kiyoomi, like his mother, has always had a bit of a sweet tooth. They get their coffees with extra sugar and cream, and Atsumu says he’s fine with water. Kiyoomi spares a glance at him as their pleasantries progress. Atsumu seems to know exactly what he’s doing, and he distantly wonders if he’s ever been in this exact situation before. His smiles are a little too genuine, words coming out as though they’ve been rehearsed in front of the mirror like Kiyoomi used to do with his junior high presentations he had to do in front of the entire class. He distinctly remembers how awkward it had felt, but at least he put on a decent show for an amazing grade.

He wonders how he would grade Atsumu's performance.

“How did you two meet?”

Right, this is where it begins. The questioning. This is what Kiyoomi wanted to cover for, since he knows Atsumu is a terrible liar. He clears his throat, ready to speak, but Atsumu beats him to it again.

“Remember that volleyball camp Omi-kun went to? I went to it too! Then we ended up at the same university, so, ya know, guess our stars are aligned or somethin’, right Omi-kun?”

At least it isn’t a lie. He was going to tell his mother they met in one of this classes, but he supposes this is all right. Maybe even better than what he had prepared. Kiyoomi purposely chooses to ignore the nickname Atsumu uses, since he’s been calling him that for a while, but worries over how casual it sounds. He looks to his mother, who doesn’t seem to mind too much.

Here’s the thing Kiyoomi realizes with Atsumu. Despite him getting on his nerves sometimes, it’s genuinely difficult to dislike him. He’s not really good at using his brain but he smiles like he doesn’t know what a frown is, and he’s got no filter to his words, yet none of them have ever offended anyone. A little clumsy and forgetful, but honest and passionate. Kiyoomi would think it's admirable if he isn't already beginning to sweat at the back of his neck.

“That’s one way to put it,” she laughs, thumbing along the drink menu. “What are you studying? Do you have work to do today?”

Kiyoomi shoots Atsumu a pointed look and is thankful that Atsumu catches the drift, because he smiles and lies and says he’s a studious boy like her son. It’s a blatant lie, and Kiyoomi knows this because Atsumu leaves all his assignments to the last night before they’re due, usually comes to find Kiyoomi for help or motivation (not that he's usually much of either)—that, and it’s also a Saturday. He won’t be surprised to find Atsumu drunk texting him again before midnight even arrives.

“So,” she starts while they wait for their food to come out (Kiyoomi wishes it’ll be sooner), “how long has it been since you two have started seeing each other?”

“A month,” Kiyoomi throws in quickly before Atsumu can get the jump on him.

“Oh? That’s a little fresh, isn’t it? What was it about Kiyoomi that caught your eye, Atsumu-san?”

Kiyoomi’s heart stutters. He didn’t think his mother would ask a question like that. He panics—there’s no way Atsumu has an answer prepared. He can try to divert the conversation, but how? To what? He doesn’t have time to think before the silence starts getting too suspicious. His grip tightens around his water glass. He can cause a spill. Yeah, maybe that’ll work, but he doesn't attempt it.

“Mother—” Kiyoomi starts, hoping that Atsumu can read his mind that’s trying telling him this is the part where he _doesn’t talk,_ but his mother sends him a look that reminds Kiyoomi scarily of himself whenever he needs to deliver a speechless warning. He shuts up.

 _“Oh,”_ Atsumu says with a blink. Kiyoomi swallows hard, closes his eyes for a moment and hopes it’ll be okay. Atsumu's grades aren't amazing, he sucks at studying, but Kiyoomi knows he's smart. He's intelligent when he wants to be. He's seen him play difficult game with an ease that's only acquired through tactical methods and high awareness. _Please_ say something smart, Kiyoomi prays.

It catches both of them by surprise when Atsumu's voice comes out placid and quiet. Kiyoomi swears his heart stops beating all at once. “At first I thought he was a li’l mean, y’know. Kinda blunt, but he’s honest. He thinks he’s good at hiding it, but he cares about me a lot. Sometimes I catch ‘im smilin’ and I think it’s the prettiest thing ever. He's just—too easy to love sometimes.”

Kiyoomi’s looking at Atsumu but he’s not looking back, fingers playing with his water straw. That was good enough to fool anyone—even Kiyoomi himself. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Atsumu _is_ good at pretending.

“That’s awfully sweet,” his mother’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “I know my little Kiyoomi can be a bit of a tough nut to crack sometimes, but I’m glad that you’ve got him all figured out. Sometimes, the best relationships come out of a well-established friendship.”

“Seems I’m the only one who can put up with his antics,” Kiyoomi mumbles.

“Same thing can be said about you,” Atsumu fireballs back and sticks his tongue out in a tease. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, leans back, and sips at his coffee. Well, that went all right. He lifts his gaze to his mother, an expression akin to satisfaction written all over her face. 

“Well, aren’t you guys just perfect for each other then,” his mother muses. At least their relationship seems believable so far.

Kiyoomi is relieved to find their food coming; there will be a break of questions, and it’ll be enough time for him to attempt to come up with answers to anything else she asks, now that he knows the extent of her questions. He needs to keep in mind that this is a first for the both of them; Kiyoomi has never introduced someone to his mother before, and his mother has never had to learn to accept someone she didn't already know.

Their server comes over to clear their plates and offer dessert, which both Kiyoomi and his mother respond, “Yes, please,” in unison. Atsumu leans over to glance at the menu, curiosity piqued, and points at the cheesecake halfway down.

“Let’s get that.”

“Get your own.”

“But _Omi,_ I thought we were gonna _share.”_ Kiyoomi feels a gentle squeeze around his thigh and he nearly jolts had he not anticipated the hand on him already.

“Fine, but we’re getting matcha.”

They place their order and his mother turns her attention back to them. “Atsumu-san, do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, I got ‘Samu, he’s my twin brother.”

“Wow, a twin! Are you guys alike?”

Atsumu snorts and shakes his head as though he’s heard this too many times to count. He probably has. “Besides our looks? Not really—well, I wanna say I’m just a teeny, tiny bit handsomer than him.”

Kiyoomi scoffs at that, but he doesn't vocalize his own opinions. He doesn't even _know_ what to think of that, and it's not like he'll spend much time thinking about it—they look the same. Slightly. Atsumu's hair is blonde. His smiles are wider. He's got the same eye colour as his brother, but they're always bright around Kiyoomi, even if he's been up all night or wakes up uncharacteristically early. Still, the same.

“What? You don’t think so? You told me I was the prettiest this morning,” Atsumu whines as he latches onto Kiyoomi's sleeve. Kiyoomi’s jaw clenches, a shaky breath escaping past his lips.

They’ve hugged before, briefly. Only for half a second and mostly on Atsumu’s part because he was drunk and needed the support while taking his shoes off, but this is something else entirely—Atsumu rubs his cheek into Kiyoomi’s arm, eyes peering up at him through thick lashes. Kiyoomi rests his hand on Atsumu’s thigh, finding the position awkward if he keeps it hovering in the air.

“Fine. You’re… pretty.”

Atsumu leans away with a pout, but Kiyoomi’s hand stays where it is. “Don’t be shy now, Omi-Omi.”

See, this was a _terrible_ idea, bringing Atsumu to meet his mother as his “boyfriend.” Atsumu is a dramatic ass by himself already—seriously, what was Kiyoomi expecting when he decided to give him this very important task? For Atsumu to be _normal?_ Give him a break. He couldn't even if he tried. If anything, Atsumu is going above and beyond right now. This act is almost gag-worthy if not for the need to impress his own mother.

“I’m not _shy,”_ he stresses, sends a hardened look to the blonde, and then smirks with satisfaction in the way Atsumu chokes on his spit when Kiyoomi squeezes his thigh hard.

As if Atsumu isn’t already a handful, their dessert comes and only one spoon is set in front of Kiyoomi. He’s about to ask for another one, but their server has already gone to check on another table. He should leave a bad review. How can they only bring them _one spoon?_

He slides the cheesecake between them and offers the utensil to Atsumu first, but then he gets a nudge to his arm and Atsumu looks at him with his mouth open. Kiyoomi could have stared at anything— _anything at all_ —but he ends up focusing on the way a pink tongue sticks out past his lips, eyes wide and mischievous as though he’s _waiting_ for something. Kiyoomi knows why he's doing this, it's too obvious and it's not like Kiyoomi is _that_ uncultured he doesn't know what unrealistic TV romance looks like, but his mind still goes straight to the gutter.

His toes curl in his dress shoes, teeth sinking into the insides of his cheeks hard enough to make him snap out of it. What the fuck is he thinking?

He huffs, grabs the spoon, and scoops off the pointed corner of the cheesecake before raising it to Atsumu’s mouth just to watch the underside of the curve press against his tongue, lips closing around it delicately, like it's teasing him. It takes a moment for Kiyoomi to realize he has to actually pull the spoon out, but when he does, it’s slowly, watching carefully as the spoon reappears from Atsumu’s closed mouth and a tongue following immediately afterward to lick over his lip.

Never in his life has Kiyoomi conjured up such inappropriate thoughts this quickly. He turns with a swallow, spoon clinking gently against the plate, and reaches for his water, suddenly parched. He thinks about anything—about _everything_ —from the church he used to go to as a kid to the feeling of ice cold water hitting his face. Trying to calm himself down works to some degree when he’s reminded that they’re not the only ones here.

He clears his throat, then startles when a spoon is lifted to his lips. He stares at Atsumu with subtle incredulity as though asking him, _“What the hell are you doing?”_ before casting a sideways glance at his mother. She’s not really looking at them, but there’s a small grin on her face. She’s observant, as much as Kiyoomi is himself. She knows what’s going on.

Begrudgingly, he opens his mouth, lets the spoon slip inside and reminds himself that Atsumu had the same one in his mouth just thirty seconds ago, and it almost feels _too intimate,_ like they're not meant to do this here. The way Atsumu's eyes are trained to his lips brings a wave of heat to Kiyoomi's face and he thinks he might die if Atsumu comments on it, because how the hell is he supposed to make an excuse for _that?_ What, he forced the blood up to its surface? Because he's a trained actor? Has imaginary hands applying fake blush on his cheeks?

If Atsumu notices, he says nothing, and at least the cheesecake is decent.

“Ah, can I get a picture of you two?” his mother suddenly asks. “It’s to show your father. I texted him a little while ago and he’d love to meet Atsumu-san in person, but he’s overseas right now for some work.”

Kiyoomi can’t say no, but he doesn’t know if Atsumu will be okay with it, either. He glances subtly at him for confirmation, but Atsumu's eyes seem to lighten up at the idea, and Kiyoomi hates that the look is so natural on him, like he's seen it too many times before. He _has_ seen it too many times before.

“Of course! Where do ya wanna take it?” exclaims Atsumu excitedly.

“How about outside? The weather is nice, and your outfits are stunning, so I'd love to get a full portrait,” she suggests kindly. “Let me grab the bill.”

“No,” Kiyoomi cuts in, “I’ll get it.” Him and his mother usually take turns paying during their once-in-a-while meets and they both know that this time is hers, but Kiyoomi feels a little bad, even though he knows she can afford it, for showing up with a third party uninvited. Well—not _uninvited,_ just that none of them really saw this coming.

They don’t get to finish their cheesecake before his mother is already out of her chair, purse over the bend of her arm, and leading them out of the restaurant. She walks around a little, trying to find a good backdrop, and ultimately decides on a place just slightly off to the left of the main doors with a wall of hanging vines. The sun is hanging right before them, and it makes Atsumu's skin look absolutely golden.

While his mother replies to a quick text, Kiyoomi stands rooted to his spot an entire foot away from Atsumu, who's trying to tell him something with his hooded eyes and anchored brows.

Kiyoomi sends him an irked look. “What?”

Atsumu frowns, eyebrows knitted together, and then grabs one of Kiyoomi’s hands to rest around his waist.

“Oh.”

“Seriously, ya sure suck at this whole datin’ thing.”

He chalks up the tightening of his throat to the fact that he's never done this before. Clearly, anyone would be nervous with their hands lingering over someone's waist for the first time, never mind a _pretend boyfriend_ and the fact that it's _Atsumu_ he has to construct a somewhat believable, fake relationship with, but Atsumu closes his own hand over his to press it tight to his waist. If not for the beating inside his chest, he'd think his hand fits somehow comfortable sandwiched between. He has never been much of a touchy person—his distaste for any sort of physical contact used to be worse as a kid—but he supposes this is okay. This is fine. For the sake of this pretend-relationship to work, it's not the worst thing in the world.

It still doesn’t justify why he gives Atsumu’s waist a gentle squeeze, fingers pressing into hard muscle, stationary even when Atsumu tenses his abdomen.

“Okay, sorry, sorry! I'm ready." His mother holds her camera up, then takes a couple steps forward. "Smile!”

They do. Kiyoomi finds it a little awkward; the muscles on his mouth don’t really cooperate with him, but then Atsumu leans his head on his shoulder and it’s _warm._ It’s awfully gentle and endearing and Kiyoomi feels _charmed_ like he's never been before.

His mother lowers her phone to look back at the snapshots she had taken. “These look adorable. I’m going to send them to your father, okay? Did you want me to forward them to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice!”

At this point, Kiyoomi doesn’t bother trying to beat Atsumu. They’re almost done anyway. He’ll be home in twenty minutes if the traffic isn’t shit, then he’ll be able to study and get his mind off whatever mess he just got both of them in today, and finally think of a way to make it up to Atsumu.

They bid their farewells and watch his mother's car turn onto the road before Kiyoomi spins on his heels to face the blonde, still waving and smiling so bright he almost forgets what he had wanted to say.

“I think that went pretty well considerin’ it’s our first run, hey?” Atsumu gloats, hands on his hips in his proudest stance.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “You just _had_ to make it so much harder for me.”

“What? Not a fan of having to spoonfeed me? Or being spoonfed? I thought it was kinda cute.”

“Shut it, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi slams his car door a little louder than necessary. Atsumu says nothing as he leans back into his car seat with a tired yawn and a stretch. Oh, Kiyoomi is sure he’s _satisfied,_ and not just from all the food he’s eaten.

Atsumu shrugs. “I dunno ‘bout you, but I thought it was pretty believable. Think she likes me.”

Well, Kiyoomi can’t disagree with that—both statements. He won’t admit it now, but Atsumu guided the conversation almost too naturally. Maybe if he didn’t know better, he might have been fooled himself.

“You do too much sometimes.”

Atsumu snorts from next to him. “Haven’t ya heard? My middle name’s _extra.”_

During the ride, Kiyoomi listens to snores, sometimes quiet and sometimes loud. They stop only when they run over a tiny bump (Kiyoomi feels a little bad, he knows Atsumu only took a short nap after staying up all night), and then they pick back up again. Kiyoomi makes sure the music is off for the entire duration. When they arrive back on campus, Kiyoomi leans back, doesn’t kill the engine. He should wake Atsumu up, but a small part of him doesn't want to, and he chooses not to indulge in an explanation.

Kiyoomi turns, lifts his hand just barely to give a gentle shake, but he doesn't get to when Atsumu stirs a little, hand drawn back all the way as though it was never there in the first place, and clears his throat.

"We home?" Atsumu verbalizes through an excessively raucous yawn, arms stretched back to hit his knuckles against the roof of the car.

"Yeah," Kiyoomi informs despite it being pretty obvious. He sniffles a little, eyes to his windshield, and then says, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? For what?” Atsumu questions as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Kiyoomi swallows, uncomfortable. “For getting you involved without letting you know beforehand. I owe you a big favour.”

“Oh,” Atsumu responds as though he hadn’t been expecting it, “nah. It’s fine. I’m just helpin’ ya. Kinda glad ya asked me, y’know? Don’t think anyone coulda played the part better.”

He agrees, still doesn’t say it. “Your ego is big enough for me to drown in it.”

They get out of the car and into their building. The elevator stops on Kiyoomi’s floor, and then he watches Atsumu take the emergency stairs up to his own with a small wave goodbye, followed by a stifled yawn. He figures he'll wake Atsumu up in a few hours after he's done some studying to make them some dinner. In the meantime, he lets him sleep.

Now that Kiyoomi is back at his apartment, alone with his thoughts, he can finally think. He drags himself to his desk, a little tired himself, and pops his laptop open to prepare to do some studying, but finds that he can’t. He's seeing the words on his lecture slides, but he's always rereading them when he discovers he's hardly absorbed any of the material. Maybe he needs a bit of a nap himself. He's zoning out, and specifically about a particular blonde.

Lunch went really well, despite what Kiyoomi had initially feared. He had honestly prepared himself for the worst. Maybe he still thinks so—that Atsumu’s lips around that spoon looked tempting enough for him to want a taste, and no, not of the cheesecake. It's the absolute worst, and he had imagined all sorts of scenarios but this one. The repercussions of his haste decision are hitting him now.

He wishes he had finished that cheesecake; indulges in the though of Atsumu potentially feeding him every bite, or Kiyoomi pressing that spoon down on a pink tongue, mouth closing over it. He would push it a little deeper, watch as Atsumu's face contort to one of confusion and then understanding. He'd pull the spoon out and drag his thumb along his lips, dip it past to feel heat and wetness. He wonders, alarmingly, how Atsumu’s lips would look around his—

“Stop,” he exclaims, eyes squeezed shut and breaths coming out harshly. “Shut up. Shut up.”

Atsumu is attractive. Has Kiyoomi mentioned this before? Objectively speaking, he has a nice face; a strong jaw, sultry eyes, and a tall nose. He’s got a bit of a silver tongue, smart, sometimes audaciously sassy, but it’s oddly charismatic.

And his lips. Don’t get him started on those _lips._ Thick, plump, always between pearly white teeth like he constantly needs something to nip at. Lips around spoons, lips around fingers. In the haziness of his mind yielded by one incredible incident over lunch, Kiyoomi conjures up a gut-curling image in his mind of Atsumu looking up at him through dilated pupils and an open, waiting mouth.

Kiyoomi groans into his hands, drags them up to press the heels into his eyes. “Okay,” he breathes out, refocusing his vision on the brightness of his laptop screen. He needs clarity right now. Kiyoomi is a practical man. There's no way he'll be able to focus on anything like this. He’s methodical and efficient, but he also knows he's not disciplined enough to force an erection away at will, and only because he's got the thought of Atsumu stringing along every nerve in his brain.

If he comes to the image of Atsumu on his knees and his cock shoved deep down his throat, even with a random porno playing on the other side of his closed eyelids, no one knows but him, and if Kiyoomi had thought that he needed to wake up before this freak masturbation session, he definitely needs it more now.

Because he just jerked off to Miya Atsumu. He’s certain he’s just committed a crime. The thought is blaring in his mind, startling and, suddenly, way too clear.

Kiyoomi actually does splash ice cold water in his face this time. When he comes back, he feels a little better although the guilt still sits somewhere at the back of his head. His phone lights up with a couple notifications, and Kiyoomi thinks, mortified as he stares down at the photos, that he and Atsumu look startlingly amazing together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOWDY FOLKS
> 
> a little late into the night but !! as promise, since it's still 10pm here, and update on wednesday !!!!!!! sorry for the wait i got super busy today because momma made an imprompty decision to visit me and take me out for boba BUT CHAPTER TWO IS HERE !!!
> 
> sincerely hoped everyone is enjoying this so far <3 come find me on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) hehe im always lookin for new friendies
> 
> comments are welcomed and appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air around him feels heavier as their hands rest between them, unmoving, and Kiyoomi is afraid they're marching onto territory they're not supposed to even be _thinking_ about. A part of him wants to know if Atsumu feels this building tension too.
> 
> His answer comes, but it comes like a punch in the gut and a slap across his face.
> 
> “Kiss me,” Atsumu whispers. Kiyoomi’s eyes slide up in surprise, and then he finds himself disintegrating at how raw the expression on Atsumu’s face is; naked and unadulterated.

For two weeks, things were relatively normal. They fell back easily into whatever undefinable routine they had; an awkwardness Kiyoomi thought would ensue never came. In fact, Atsumu seemed  _ completely  _ all right, and he doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be a good thing or not.

Who’s forced to pretend to play the part of someone else’s significant other and then be fine with it? Is it worse if there’s some unresolved tension, despite his apologies and Atsumu’s reassurance that it’s okay, after pulling a stunt like that? Isn’t it  _ normal _ to feel somewhat unhinged by an incident was sprung up on him out of nowhere? Kiyoomi spends too much time thinking about it. He told himself he would be doing Atsumu a favour, but the conversation in his car back on the day of his mother's lunch flips and turns in his head. Is he just misunderstanding something?

Kiyoomi lets out a sigh.

“That’s, like, the fifth time ya’ve done that tonight. In the past half hour. You okay?”

He blinks away from his laptop screen, the notes on his lecture slides mercilessly eating away at his brain the entire study session (Atsumu’s playing games, he thinks, if the aggressive mouse-clicking and frustrated groans are anything to go by). To be fair, though, he hasn't really been absorbing much information, either.

“I’m fine.”

Atsumu doesn’t look convinced. “Ya sure? We can talk about it if ya wanna.”

Kiyoomi’s jaw twitches with the clench of his teeth. “Are you  _ sure  _ there isn’t anything I can do for you?” He doesn’t like feeling indebted. That, and the fact that he feels a little bit guilty for Atsumu always being the subject of his thoughts when he has a hand down his fucking pants. No, Kiyoomi has not told Atsumu. That's something he's taking to his grave for sure.

“Well,” Atsumu starts, then glances off as though he’s considering something, “wouldja forgive me if I told ‘Samu? I feel like he's kinda got a right to know.”

Kiyoomi shifts in his seat, uncertain. I t  _ should  _ be fine as long as it doesn’t get around to his parents. The risk is low; none of them know any of Kiyoomi’s relatives, but the less people who know, the better. Atsumu must have perceived the look on his face as apprehension.

“Hey, it’s fine. We don’t hafta tell anyone if yer scared someone’ll find out.”

“No,” Kiyoomi interrupts, confident, “it’s fine, but only Osamu.”

Unfortunately, they both learn there’s an unspoken rule between Osamu and Suna, because whatever Atsumu tells his brother, Suna ends up asking him about it half a day later, a  _ day,  _ at best. It seems he had forgotten about this when he brought up their pretend-relationship. Atsumu spends an entire five minutes apologizing as Kiyoomi paces around his apartment. It'll be fine, he has to reassure Atsumu it’s all right, that they’ll both talk to Suna who's kind of known for having a loud mouth and a silver tongue.

“You’re  _ what?” _

“Dating. For realsies.”

This was the solution they had come to together. Suna knows Kiyoomi’s cousin, and even though he has a feeling Motoya wouldn’t tell anyone if Kiyoomi just talks to him (assuming Suna spills), he really doesn’t want to take any chances.

If it means they have to convince Osamu and Suna, and almost everyone else in their lives, then so be it. A lie on top of another one. Easy, right?

(Not.)

Kiyoomi is here too in case they don’t believe Atsumu, which, according to the blonde himself, is a common occurance. “We are.”

Osamu gives Atsumu a withered look, half confusion, half disbelief. “Ya told me ya were just pretendin’.”

_ “No,”  _ Atsumu accentuates, “I said I went to lunch as his  _ boyfriend.” _

“You said  _ fake _ boy—”

_ “No—” _

“I was nervous about telling people,” Kiyoomi cuts in. Clearly, Atsumu was fighting a losing battle by changing his story last minute. He shoots a sideways glance at the blonde. “But I’m not anymore.”

Osamu evaluates him slowly. They’re somewhat familiar with each other; they live in the same building and they’re both well aware of the fact that Atsumu is the only person Kiyoomi seems to let into his life. It’ll make sense for Kiyoomi to end up “falling” for Atsumu, he believes. Suna, on the other hand, looks almost bored if not for the way his eyes narrow just slightly. It’s not really  _ much  _ of his business, but the two are pretty much attached at the hip (they might have a little more going on between them, but it’s not like  _ Kiyoomi  _ is one to pry).

“Ya sure sit a little far considerin’ yer a couple.” Osamu gestures forward with his chin, arms crossed and body leaned back.

There’s about a two foot distance between them on the couch, Osamu and Suna sitting in chairs that they had pulled over from the small dining table. Kiyoomi swallows. “I’m not a fan of PDA.”

Osamu lifts a brow, but it must have been somewhat passable because it isn’t brought up anymore. When they leave Kiyoomi sees them out with half a grin and a light dip of his head. His shoulders slump the moment the door closes, fatigue beginning to inch its way into his mind.

“Hey, wanna go on a date?”

Kiyoomi pivots around, eyebrows scrunched. “Why?”

“To make it  _ believable,  _ y’know? I gotta feelin’ Sunarin ain’t convinced yet, and neither is ‘Samu.” When Atsumu puts it like that, it’s hard not to turn it over. “Even better, we gotta post a photo of us on my Insta.”

After a beat and a brief moment of consideration, Kiyoomi gives in. “Fine, but this weekend. I have a lab due on Friday that I haven’t gotten to yet.”

Atsumu feigns shock. “What? Omi’s procrastinating? Didn’t think I’d be rubbin’ on off ya by  _ datin’  _ ya.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t feel the need to correct him on that. It doesn’t bother him as much as before, and he concretizes it to the fact that they both already understand that they’re not  _ actually  _ dating.

“I’ve been busy,” he tells him. The truth is far from that—he has always been pretty decent with time management. Atsumu has called him a little bland before, but he has his own hobbies that he's good at indulging in, except he’s even better at setting forward priorities. _E_ _ ducation  _ being at the top of that takes pretty much all the time away from the rest that's down that list.

Also, lately his mind has been a little preoccupied with  _ other  _ stuff (Atsumu), therefore even if it’s a pretend-date, he supposes a few hours away can’t hurt. It might help ease some of that "other  stuff" he’s been spending so much time thinking about.

Atsumu smiles, a glare of white teeth and a cocky smirk. “So… Saturday then?”

The weekend comes a little too slowly, but it’s to nobody’s surprise considering how much work has piled up. Kiyoomi gets it clear and done by Friday night and is able to eliminate most responsibilities for half of his Saturday.

(“Day? Nah, let’s go at night.”

“What? Why?”

Atsumu had shrugged. “Feel like it’s more intimate.”)

Kiyoomi had spent a little over half an hour the night before to construct a solid plan for the events that will carry out tonight. They’ll go to the mall (couples do that, right? Shopping together?) and then grab dinner at a restaurant Kiyoomi had been able to get a reservation at, and then the movie theatre. It sounds easy and believable; it’s what he sees in movies.

On the other hand, however, Atsumu looks, for some reason, like he’s wilting on the spot when Kiyoomi introduces this.

Kiyoomi shakes his head slightly, obviously confused. “What?”

“That’s so…  _ boring,”  _ Atsumu stresses. “Do ya needa buy somethin’ at the mall? I like dinner, that’s okay. Ya made a reservation anyway— _ movie theatre?  _ Seriously?”

He might have taken a  _ little  _ offense to that. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Why don’t we just, like, play it by ear or somethin’?”

“No, it’s easier with a plan. Three photos—one at the mall, at dinner, and the theatre. It’s sufficient material for at least two months.”

Atsumu gawks, but Kiyoomi manages to convince him (he doesn’t exactly give him a choice because he heads straight for the door). The drive is a short one, since the traffic heading there is opposite of the way all the workers are headed after their shifts. They get there in fifteen minutes, but it's still enough time for Kiyoomi to wonder if this whole thing is going to come back and bite him in the ass. Either way, mistake or not, it's too late anyway.

“Sky’s pretty today,” Atsumu comments as they walk toward one of the entrance doors. The weather is decent this evening. It had been cloudy earlier, but the skies always seem to open up as the sun begins to melt into the horizon.

Kiyoomi doesn’t have anything to say, but he agrees. The door opens and he grimaces at the abundance of strangers crowding his vision. He hears a low whistle from next to him.

_ “Shit, _ it’s hectic here.”

“It’s a Saturday night.”

Atsumu nods, but he doesn’t seem to mind the buzz of energy around them as he steps forward. “Yeah,” he tosses a wink over his shoulder, corner of his lip quirked upward, “prime time for couples.”

He has the urge to roll his eyes but saves it since Atsumu isn’t looking at him anymore. They find a small coffee shop first, one that Kiyoomi doesn’t remember being here the last time he visited, and order a couple drinks. Then, they take a photo of the plain, white paper cups, tiny logo in the middle, before blending back in with the bustling crowd.

“Omi, look at that!”

Kiyoomi glances to where Atsumu is pointing, eyebrows lifting at the mannequins’ shirts on display. He should be concerned, but finds he isn’t when his gaze flits up and recognizes it as a retailer that sells mostly gag gifts.

Atsumu nudges his arm with his elbow. “We should get those.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s so  _ embarrassing,” _ says Kiyoomi with a grimace, nose scrunching up at the plain shirts. “It’s just going to sit in my closet and disintegrate.”

Atsumu doesn’t even hear him because he’s already inside. When Kiyoomi finally locates him, he’s got a sales assistant flagged down, hands gesturing wildly to the mannequins at the front of the store.

_ “Atsumu,”  _ Kiyoomi hisses quietly when she's gone, a hand curled around his bicep—it’s solid under his squeeze, and he isn’t exactly surprised, he knows Atsumu works out a lot, but it’s new, and stuns him, to actually  _ hold  _ him like this. He lets go. “What are you  _ doing?” _

“I think photos on Instagram seem kinda staged. I snap ‘Samu a lot. I’m already always at yer place, so put it on sometime and lemme snap it.”

A huff of breath leaves his lips. “Fine, but I’m not buying that.”

Atsumu pays for both of the shirts and carries it throughout the mall in a black, obscure plastic bag, and Kiyoomi feels just a hint of embarrassment from the couple shirts folded and tucked neatly inside.

The Other Half. The Better Half. He has a feeling which one Atsumu is going to lay his claim on.

They take one more picture at the mall. Atsumu pulls his phone out in a store that he (once again) journeys into with Kiyoomi tagging along and snaps a picture of them in the full-length mirror. He’s highly aware of the fact that he sends it to his story, then briefly wonders how many people Atsumu has on his Snapchat, something that Kiyoomi doesn’t even have installed.

Dinner feels a little more comfortable to him without all the moving bodies and young, boisterous voices. Here, it’s just him and Atsumu at their reserved table, with only their server to visit to ask for their orders and fill up their glasses. He’s only a little annoyed when he’s constantly being topped off whenever his water reaches halfway.

“Smile, Omi,” Atsumu croons, phone lifted to his face. Kiyoomi grimaces. “Like ya mean it, dimwit, or—fine, pretend yer busy doin’ something. A candid shot seems more intimate, I think.”

Kiyoomi’s instinct is to reach for his water glass, but he curls his twitching fingers into a fist and decides to glance out the window instead. He’s not exactly great in front of cameras, but he does find a bit of comfort in the way all the streetlamps flicker on at the same time, the skies now dark enough to need that provided glow.

He hears the distinct click of a camera going off. Kiyoomi asks to see it, and when Atsumu turns his phone around, he holds it a long arm’s length away, most likely in fear he might attempt to delete it.

And, well, he  _ does  _ want to delete it.

“Why?” Atsumu questions. “It looks good.”

There’s no time to bicker over it because their server interrupts them with hot plates and steaming food. Their eating is spent partially in silence, the rest of the time talking about the dreaded midterms just around the corner. Despite the week having felt long, as are with the other weeks (and probably the rest), the entire semester itself seems to be moving with an alacrity that comes at the expense of everyone’s verve. The amount of times Kiyoomi has heard sniffles while studying in the library is only a minor part of that testimony.

It’s pleasant like this. Somehow, being with Atsumu is always comfortable. If he must be honest, university is full of people who are exactly like him—emphatic and rowdy, outgoing to a fault (considering how he’d sacrifice study groups and morning classes for sleep and fun), and so incredibly vibrant it’s almost blinding—but Kiyoomi has little to no interest at all for anyone else. He has a feeling Atsumu’s the only one who has garnered all of it.

He wonders if he minds, and then doesn’t sit on it long enough to find an answer.

“Tired yet?” Atsumu asks as they get comfortable in the car.

Kiyoomi stifles a yawn, but he doesn’t lie, “A little.”

“Let’s just ditch the theatre an’ go home.”

For the entire ride, Atsumu is ranting about how his brother needs to “stop bein’ a pussy and just ask him out” because, apparently, him and Suna  _ do  _ have a thing. Kiyoomi has always had keen perception, but he doesn’t really put it to use since he chooses not to concern himself with other peoples’ affairs.

The talking does, eventually, wear out, and Kiyoomi spends a few short moments of silence realizing that they didn’t get to carry out what he had planned for their date and that he can’t complain, either. Atsumu is spontaneous, and it’s one of the stark contrasts in their clashing personalities because Kiyoomi prefers digging for precision. Somehow, though, they seem to slot together nicely. Not perfectly, but it works, and he also doesn’t hate it.

Instead of going to the theatres for a movie, they end up finding something on Netflix while cozying up on Kiyoomi’s couch. Atsumu had picked it out because he’s probably going to be the one watching more of it when Kiyoomi has his laptop on his thighs, half his document blank, after deciding he’d do some work while it plays.

Halfway through, he notices Atsumu’s attention is diverted to his phone. He had looked pretty invested into the movie, since Kiyoomi has been sneaking glances at him every so often. He wets his tongue along his lower lip, nervous.

“Are you bored?”

“Huh?” Atsumu squeaks, caught off guard. He blinks and clears his throat, eyes flicking from Kiyoomi to the television screen. “Uh, no, I was just—lookin’ at the picture we took earlier. I was aboutta post to my Insta.”

Two minutes later, Kiyoomi’s phone lights up with a notification. He already knows what it’s from, but his fingers still reach to unlock it anyway. Staring at himself on a screen feels a little awkward, but he realizes it’s not too bad. Upon closer inspection, Atsumu had actually done a pretty decent job at capturing a nice angle.

His eyes squint, then drags his finger to the left, then again, and again.

“You posted all of them?”

Atsumu clicks his phone off. “What’s wrong with that?”

Kiyoomi struggles over his words, hands gesturing wildly. “Couldn’t you have, like, posted them… on separate occasions? We could have used those photos over time.”

“Ohhhh. Well, shit. ‘Samu already saw it. Guess we gotta go on another date, huh?” Atsumu laughs like it’s the funniest thing ever, and Kiyoomi hears it sharply in the placidity of his room that night. He's aware he had looked a little askance in front of Atsumu at the suggestion—a joke, maybe—but somewhere deep inside him tells him he might actually be looking forward to another date-not-date with him. Some part of him wishes it can just be a date.

He wonders if this is what it means to have a crush. Again, he leaves that door unopened.

Thankfully, Osamu and Suna stop coming at them, since Atsumu says his phone has stopped blowing up with not-so-subtle questions about their relationship. Kiyoomi is somewhat glad he’s not close enough with either of them to have their contacts saved on his phone.

Midterms season comes and goes, but not without draining the life out of every student on campus. Even Atsumu appeared barren, so physically lackluster Kiyoomi plagued over it for nearly two days straight. For the first time between all those exams, Atsumu had asked to come to the library with him, although he often got distracted. Kiyoomi was always there to remind him to get back to it after his breaks, which lasted only a brevity of three minutes of mindless Twitter scrolling at most.

Occasionally, Kiyoomi’s mother messages him; it’s usually quick texts about how things have been going with Atsumu, whether he’s eaten or not, or if his studies are going well. He had spent half a minute trying to get a good angle for a selfie that Atsumu suggested they send to her and then proceeded to lie about deleting it.

To this day, it’s still the most recent photo on his phone, and Atsumu has no idea, not even as he helps with dishes because he didn’t want to eat at his own apartment since “‘Samu literally eats the entire kitchen.” Kiyoomi thinks it's a secret he'll keep, since he's apparently so good at that anyway.

Kiyoomi’s phone lights up with a text, the default ring going off. He gets up from his squat and leans over just enough to peek at the text preview from his mother, then gets back to loading hand-scrubbed plates into his dishwasher. The sigh that leaves his lips plucks at Atsumu’s attention.

“What’s wrong?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “My mother wants to know if you’re available to visit for Christmas. It’s still a month away, so we can think of an excuse—”

“Sure. I didn’t know ya celebrate Christmas.”

Kiyoomi’s mouth falls open in surprise, eyes lifted to stare at a rounded shoulder that obscures most of Atsumu’s face. “What do you mean  _ sure?  _ Don’t you have family to visit? You haven’t been home in a while.”

Atsumu doesn’t look at him as he responds, “We’re not really big on Christmas. I told ‘em I’d be home for New Years though, so I can probably go.” He finally looks at Kiyoomi. “Why? Don’t want me there?”

Kiyoomi can’t say he had hoped Atsumu would say no, but he did expect it. A calamity hits him, the force of it exponential, seeping in at first before striking him  _ hard.  _ His brain feels clouded over, and nothing comes to mind except the very obvious realization that Atsumu is going to be meeting his  _ entire  _ family. Motoya will be there (he had found out, after all, and it wasn’t even Suna who told him, but he just happens to follow everyone who has mutual followings on Instagram, so it’s a no-brainer he saw all their Instagram posts),  his siblings will be there, his _father,_ too.

Worst of all, his anxiety comes down to the evident conception that Atsumu might mean more to him than  _ just a friend.  _ He’s been tossing it over and over in his head whenever he’s in bed, free of stressing over lectures and exams and  _ everything  _ except Atsumu.

Here, he discovers, is when Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that he  _ likes  _ Atsumu.

Kiyoomi clears his throat. “No, it’s okay. I’d… prefer if you come. It’ll help fortify our relationship.”

“Exactly. Smart thinkin’, Omi-kun.”

“It’s just a small family gathering,” he reminds carefully, fully aware that Atsumu has quite a knack for social gatherings. He needs to understand that Kiyoomi’s family is  _ different,  _ unlike his own. It’s at this peculiar moment that he suddenly remembers all the stories Atsumu has told him about his mother, all those childhood stories. He was never super specific about what his relationship with his mother is like, but he gathers that they have a good relationship. A normal one.

Kiyoomi's family is nothing like Atsumu's. He clears his throats, thoughts beginning to vanish although the apprehension still takes root. “When are you supposed to return to Hyogo?”

“I haven’t decided.” They finish in the kitchen and lead each other to the living room.

Kiyoomi frowns as he plops down on the couch and eyes the stretch of hamstrings under an old pair of basketball shorts after Atsumu's sprawls his body across the floor. A pillow acts as supports, compressed by his chest. “You should probably figure that out. Are you leaving with your brother?”

Atsumu grunts, then rolls onto his back in an attempt to find a cozier position, his phone too close to his face for comfort. “Nah. He leaves right after his last exam. Said I would stay for a bit of partyin’, but since I’m headed to yers for Christmas, I can just party there, hey?”

“It’s not a  _ party,  _ Atsumu.”

“Can I make it one?”

_ “No,  _ there’s no party.”

“Damn,” the blonde responds, then suddenly sits up. “Hey, d'ya wanna practise?”

Kiyoomi gives him a quizzical look. “Practise what?”

Atsumu’s eyes shy away, shoulders raising and falling with a nonchalant shrug. “Ya know, like, bein’ boyfriends an’ stuff.”

“What are you… I don’t understand. We’ve already been practising, technically.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, and Kiyoomi shrinks in a little on himself, a throw pillow hugged to his chest. “I mean, like, when we’re in front of others. It ain’t gonna be the same thing as just postin’ pictures and sendin’ snaps. Like—okay, if ‘Samu and Sunarin were here right now, what would we be doin’?”

A flash of scenarios flicker through Kiyoomi’s mind. Atsumu sitting next to him, pressed right up to his arm. Atsumu’s head leaning into his shoulder as they watch that new show he’s been raving about. Atsumu’s face inching closer to kiss gently into the corner of his mouth. The thoughts send his heart on an incessant marathon.

“How do you suggest we practise?”

Atsumu gets up from his spot to take a seat next to Kiyoomi, whose arm is suddenly warm and tingling with the brush of skin on skin. “Let’s start with this.” Without any sort of prior notice, he closes a hand around Kiyoomi’s.

“Atsumu—” he speaks, but he doesn’t finish it because he’s completely absorbed by how Atsumu slowly eases his fingers apart to slide his own right between them.

“Hand-holding. Y’know, things people do when they like each other,” Atsumu muses like he finds the situation humorous. Kiyoomi feels his breath hitch, words caught at the back of his throat, as he tentatively lowers his own fingers to graze the back of Atsumu’s hand. His own hand is bigger, but Atsumu’s fingers are thicker. They look so  _ different  _ together, but it looks complete. It haunts him.

Kiyoomi doesn't know what to say for the following minute. The air around him feels heavier as their hands rest between them, unmoving, and Kiyoomi is afraid they're marching onto territory they're not supposed to even be _thinking_ about. A part of him wants to know if Atsumu feels this building tension too.

His answer comes, but it comes like a punch in the gut and a slap across his face.

“Kiss me,” Atsumu whispers. Kiyoomi’s eyes slide up in surprise, and then he finds himself disintegrating at how  _ raw  _ the expression on Atsumu’s face is; naked and unadulterated. For a moment, all they do is stare, but then those honey-coloured irises light up with mirth, corner of his lip turned to the sky. “To practise, of course.”

Kiyoomi should say no, but then he’d be lying. “To practise,” he responds, slightly astounded by the lack of wavering in his voice. He’s never kissed anyone before, but the idea of making Atsumu his first, who already is for most things, doesn’t sound terrible. In fact, it sounds like something he can get used to.

And that is probably the scariest thought he’s ever conjured.

Either way, it’s not something Kiyoomi wants him to know, so he sucks it up and tells himself it’s for a good reason, a needle pressing into his heart aside.

Atsumu stares at him with wide eyes and fluttering lashes. “You okay?” he asks as if he’s aware of the battle inside Kiyoomi’s head. He has to remind himself that Atsumu isn’t telepathic.

Instead of responding, he rests a shaky hand on Atsumu’s cheek, who almost pulls back in surprise, but Kiyoomi holds him there firmly. Although he may not show it on his face, his heart does flips with nervousness reaching even the tips of his fingers (he’s afraid Atsumu might feel little zaps) as he closes the distance between them. It’s quick, hardly lasts a second, but it’s enough for Kiyoomi to return to his original position with a slight flush on the highs of his cheeks, shoulders tense.

“Hey, Omi.”

“What?” Kiyoomi shoots back with a slight bite that he didn’t intend to have laced with his word.

“Was that... yer first kiss?”

It takes Kiyoomi a second too long to respond, but when he does it sounds a little too petulant, chin lifted higher and arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Course there is!” Kiyoomi shoots him a dirty look and Atsumu shrinks back, defending himself, “I’m sayin’, yer family won’t believe ya if ya hardly know how to kiss properly. What kinda couple doesn’t know how to kiss?”

Kiyoomi sighs, fingers rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. “Get to the point, Atsumu.”

“I’m tryna say we should practise more. At least till yer a pro at it.” Kiyoomi feels Atsumu’s weight shift. “Here, lemme show ya.”

When they kiss for the second time, it’s nothing that Kiyoomi had expected it to be. Knowing Atsumu and his habits, he wouldn’t have predicted the fingertips ghosting along the back of his neck, breath hot and gentle against his lips. Atsumu stares at him with such a firm gaze it’s hard not to look away, so Kiyoomi doesn’t. It’s when their lips touch and Atsumu doesn’t pull away that Kiyoomi finally lets his eyes fall closed.

They move together although Kiyoomi is troubled by his lack of experience, but Atsumu guides him easily. It’s unfamiliar, the feeling of another pair of lips on his, but he doesn’t despise it; he reciprocates. When Atsumu licks at his lip softly, like he’s testing the waters, Kiyoomi nips down at Atsumu’s in return.

There’s a hot exhale against his philtrum, and Kiyoomi wants so badly to grab Atsumu by the front of his shirt, pull him  _ closer _ —closer than they’ve ever been, but his hands stay twitching in his lap in equanimity.

It isn’t rushed, like how he imagined Atsumu kisses. Kiyoomi thinks often about it; he wonders if Atsumu kisses like a hurricane wanting to destroy, a gush of winter wind to sweep him off his feet.

The answer is neither. It’s serene, like how he imagines he’d feel by the sea on a quiet summer day, gentle in a way only comparable to spring sunlight filtering through his blinds on slow weekend mornings.

Yet, still, it sweeps the rug right out from under him.

They pull away after seconds that he despises for feeling too short. Kiyoomi notes the look on Atsumu’s face. His lips are wet and red—redder than they had been when Kiyoomi had been glancing at them earlier—and his face is flushed in ways Kiyoomi wouldn’t have imagined is a pretty look on Atsumu, except it is. It's _beautiful—_ _he's_ beautiful. He turns away, tongue subconsciously sliding across his lower lip.

“That’s enough,” he says, more to himself than to Atsumu. He still can’t call himself experienced, but he’s got a good idea of it now. He’s also evidently cognizant of what it feels like to kiss Atsumu, except only one of those two discoveries betrays his words. He snaps his laptop shut and wills himself to stop thinking about wanting  _ more. _

“What? No way. We gotta practise at least three times a day. Yer still a rookie kisser, Omi. Your family will figure it out too easily,” Atsumu argues.

Kiyoomi cuts him off, “This is stupid, Atsumu. We’re adults, not teenagers.”

For the third time that night, they kiss, only this time, Kiyoomi is caught off guard with how unwarranted it is, and then the emotion that follows up is  _ yearn.  _ This time is  _ different _ —wetter, desperate, Atsumu’s hands squeezing over his thighs.

Messy, like they’re falling apart underneath their touches. Dangerous, because it breaks whatever unspoken rule Kiyoomi has set in place to save himself the disaster of a foreseeing heartache.

The kiss breaks because Atsumu is the first one to push himself off. “See?” he asks, but the quip behind it lacks its tease when he’s panting from his mouth, eyes reflecting an emotion Kiyoomi can’t comprehend when he feels like he's short-circuiting. “Gettin’ better.”

A heavy silence falls upon them, and it’s one Kiyoomi doesn’t like. For the first time since he’s met Atsumu, he feels like he might genuinely crack. He refuses to look at Atsumu, feels him fidget in his seat, and he suddenly is oceans away.

“I, uh, should probably get goin’. Got an early class tomorrow.”

Kiyoomi knows he’s most likely not showing up for it anyway, but he doesn’t stop him. Almost too quickly, Atsumu is by the door, except he turns around, signature smirk back on his face. “Hey,” he reminds, “three kisses a day. I’mma come by every day so we can practise more of that. And, uh, don’t forget to lock yer door.”

It shuts with a click, the sound echoing over and over in his head. He gets up to turn the lock in place before getting ready for bed. Kiyoomi brushes his teeth and thinks about how Christmas at his family’s is going to go this year with the addition of Atsumu, a wild card Kiyoomi can never read no matter how many times he attempts to. He feels like he knows him, but at the same time  _ doesn’t,  _ and it's frustrating. These days, he hardly knows himself. How is he supposed to define everything he feels and thinks, provide an answer to every _why?_ question, when he has pretty much lived his entire life by practical reasoning?

Atsumu can't be rationalized. Neither can his feelings.

The cold lip balm makes his lips tingle as he turns in his bed, and he can’t stop thinking back to thirty minutes ago, when Atsumu had been sitting on his couch, lips soft against his own. The picture, intense and striking, replays in the dark of his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN
> 
> IM LATE im so sorry haha whats another night of not sleeping BUT i assure u that i DO sleep, just not between the hours of 10pm and 11am HAHAHA
> 
> anyways !!!!!!! this chapter kiyoomi has a revelation ??
> 
> hehe come yell at me on my [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/milkocaine) if ur lookin for a friend !! im always discussing skts on there (srsly, i cannot get enough of them like my brain is rotting with them at this point)


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